


You're a Terrible Spy, Princess

by bispaceprincess



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Enemies to Friends, F/M, the man from uncle - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 02:56:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5480684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bispaceprincess/pseuds/bispaceprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke has been caught by the CIA for art theft and blackmailed into being an agent. Bellamy is a KGB agent with a chip on his shoulder. There's no way they can work together. No way at all.<br/>Clarkes not going to waste her return to Italy though. No matter the company. </p><p>Aka. The Man From UNCLE au, where Clarke is half Gaby half Solo, and Bellamy is Illya.</p><p>For <a href="http://rebelprincebell.tumblr.com/">rebelprincebell</a> on tumblr for BSS!</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're a Terrible Spy, Princess

This mission was already a disaster.

Of course there’s no way it would have ever gone any differently, Clarke worked by herself, not with a partner and certainly not with a Russian partner, one Bellamy Blake, who she had first met when he tailed her in west Germany and nearly ripped off the back of her car. Not with a man who had attacked her at the beginning of their briefing meeting, only winning because he had got the jump on her.  And especially not with the man, who when they were left alone to discuss the details of their new mission had told her he’d been briefed on her, and taunted her for “being bailed out by mommy dearest. Or blackmailed out as the case may be…”

Clarke was being punished, by some higher power or at least her supervising officer Kane, there was no other explanation.

She had barely been able to restrain herself from punching the smirk off Bellamy’s face when they met up at the airport and he grabbed her hand, slid a ring on a finger and stated smugly, “There, we’re engaged now.”

This was punishment in the form of a fake engagement cover with the most insufferable man she had ever met.

As if that wasn't bad enough, when they had gone for a walk when they landed, they were followed and mugged. Of course, if it was any other time the criminals would’ve had the worst time of their life, but since they had to keep their covers they had to pretend like they were helpless and hand their things over. Which caused Clarke to seethe quietly and Bellamy to punch the marble wall beside them when they left.

She observed him across the room, gingerly readjusting the bag of ice on his knuckles before dropping his eyes back down towards his massive book. She tried to push the look that had crossed his face while they had been mugged, open and raw, and how he had nudged her behind him, putting himself in between her and the attackers. She had placed her fingers on his wrist, to remind him they had to keep back, and had felt the thrumming of his heartbeat beneath them, and seen the almost soft look he gave her as it slowed under her touch. She could look after herself, but it had been almost… sweet. Which if you had asked her 2 days ago, she would have said was never a word she would use to describe Bellamy Blake. But before they had been mugged he had spent the entire walk regaling her with facts about the buildings around them, his eyes alight with excitement, and his hands wildly gesticulating as he told her personal stories about the architects that built the amazing structures.

Clarke shook her head to rid herself of the thoughts and went over to the stocked bar. God bless expensive hotels. She surveyed her choices, and although her usual liquor of choice was bourbon, she decided that since she was going to try and drink with Bellamy she should meet him halfway, and plucked the bottle of vodka, along with two glasses up and made her way back to him.

“Drink?”

He jumped a little, having been thoroughly engrossed in his book. He regarded the bottle dangling from her fingers and replied, “No.”

Clarke poured three generous fingers into each glass and held one out to him. “This bottle will be finished by tonight, so are you going to help me or not?”

He shook his head and she shrugged her shoulders and quickly downed both servings before pouring another glass and flopping back onto the couch to stare at the ceiling.

The last time she had been in Italy was before she got caught. Her company last time was much better, instead of a terse and unsociable Russian spy she had spent most of the time with a delightful and beautiful waitress. The entire trip had passed in a blur of shared prosecco, tipsy dancing and tangled limbs. The payout from the pilfered ‘Venus and Adonis’ by Titian had been pretty great too. Clarke glanced back over at Bellamy, whose nose was still buried in his book (which was some ghastly looking tome in what looked like latin), and heaved a sigh before picking herself up.

Bringing her again refilled glass and the bottle with her, Clarke crossed the room to the radio. Just because she was stuck with the most horrid man she had ever had the misfortune of meeting, much less working with, did not mean she was going to waste her trip to Italy. She was young. She was in a beautiful hotel. She was well on her way to being drunk and forgetting the horrid day and start to the mission. She might not have a lithe waitress to seduce, but she could enjoy herself alone. And that meant dancing.

She fiddled with the dial, before let out a hum of triumph when she found a station playing a good song.

__

_When your baby leaves you all alone_

_And nobody call you on the phone_

Clarke picked up the large sunglasses that were all the vogue right now and slid them onto her face with a giggle. She began to sway to the sultry beat, reveling in the feel of her soft loose pajamas grazing against her skin as she moved. She shimmied around the room, taking sips from her drink intermittently. God, she loved this song. The alcohol made her limbs feel loose and heavy, and for a moment she felt good again. Like the person she was before she had been caught. before her mother had blackmailed her into being an agent. Before she had been forced to go on this mission.

Then he ruined it.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Bellamy said from across the room, turning his head slightly towards her.

Clarke paused for a moment, then returned to dancing, her jaw a little tighter. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, as he stood up and crossed the room toward her stiffly.

“I’m going to bed, turn this off,” He said, heading toward the radio.

Clarke placed her now empty glass on the side table and swayed in front of him with a smile. She wasn’t going to let him ruin her fun. He gave her an exasperated look and tried to go around her, but she cut him off again, all while still dancing.

“No fun dancing all by yourself,” She said, not trying to keep the rasp out of her voice. She knew that he was getting annoyed, which more than made up for his trying to prevent her from having fun. She slid her glasses up onto her head.

“I need a partner.” She continued, and allowed herself to drop her gaze deliberately, taking all of his admittedly fine form in, before looking up at him through her thick lashes.

“No.”

“No, as in you can’t dance, or you don’t want to.”

He gave her a smirk, looked her up and down, then replied, “let’s call it both.”

But he hesitated, Clarke wasn’t really in the mood to take no for an answer, and she didn’t actually like him, but a glass of vodka was a poor substitute for a dance partner, so when he began to turn to the radio she grabbed his hand lightly and pouted her lips. She could see him soften, and she grabbed the other and began to sway again to the music, moving his hands side to side. Clarke tried to ignore how the calluses on his hands sent tingles up her spine, which were only intensified when she met his gaze and he gave her a small smile. That would not do. She decided quickly, and slid her grip down to his wrists and brought his hands together in a clap, first on one side, then the other, before jerking one hand up to give him a resounding slap across the face. His smile instantly turned into a stern frown.

“Oops, sorry,” Clarke said with a sickly sweet smile, “Hand must have slipped.”

It placated him enough, because he allowed her to reach out for his hands again, and continue dancing. They swayed back and forth for a few more beats before she brought his hand up to slap his other cheek, before spinning around on her heel and moving towards her drink for another sip.

He sputtered for a moment before saying, “You’re not in Long Island at mommy's mansion anymore princess. Don't make me teach you a lesson.”

Clarke's eyebrows raised then snapped together. She slowly removed her sunglasses from their perch on her head and placed them and her drink on the table before saying, “So you don't want to dance, but you do want to wrestle.”

He started to object, but was cut off by her running at him full force, tackling him to the ground. They skidded across the room, toppling over the couch, crashing the contents of the coffee table to the ground. He caught his bearings after a moment and flipped her below him but she swiped his hands out and gained the top position again, straddling his hips, breathing heavily.

Suddenly the frenetic energy of the battle ebbed away, replaced by an almost pulsing stillness.

His hands were wrapped tight around her wrists, from the attack, but in the aftermath loosened so she slid, inch by inch, down towards him. His eyes darted towards her lips, and she could feel the intake of her breath in anticipation. She dropped down to her elbows, her lips a breaths inch from his own, she would barely have to move to kiss him. Which she knew was ridiculous, because she didn’t. Want to kiss him that is. But in that moment maybe she didn’t have time to really ruminate on the thought for long, as the alcohol she had drank that evening caught up with her all in a flash and she slumped down on top of him, limp.

“Princess?” she could barely make out from her haze. “Princess?”

She definitely wasn’t going to respond if he kept calling her that. She almost opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind, but then he was lifting her, up off him and into his arms, and carrying her towards her bed, as gentle as could be, and she was stunned into silence.

He placed her into the bed, adjusting the covers around her, before leaning down to place a light kiss on her forehead and saying, “Goodnight...Clarke.”

When he turned to walk away, she couldn’t help herself. She grabbed at his hand and held it for a moment, keeping her eyes closed, before sweeping her thumb over his pulse point and letting go. She heard the soft click of the door behind him and thought to herself, ‘ _maybe this mission wouldn’t be so bad_ ’.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas!  
> I was going to try and do the whole of the movie, but it got a little away from me and I couldn't finish in time, so I decided to just do the best scene. Hope you like it!


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